It was plain that Joseph could not quite approve of this cool way of putting the matter. He said tut-tut, and squeezed Paula's hand again.
Maud, who had brought the Diplomat to a triumphant conclusion, was inspired to suggest suddenly that Paula should recite something. "I am very fond of a good recitation," she said. "I remember that I used to know a very touching poem about a man who died of thirst on the Llano Estacado. I forget why, but I think he was riding to some place or other. I know it was extremely dramatic, but it is many years since I last did it, and I have forgotten it."
Everyone breathed again. Paula said that she didn't go in for recitations, but that if Uncle Nat had not elected to play Bridge, she would have asked Willoughby to read his play to them.
"That would have been very enjoyable, I expect," said Maud placidly.
It was not Nathaniel's custom to keep late hours, nor was he the kind of host who altered his habits to suit the convenience of his guests. At eleven o'clock, the Bridgeplayers came back into the drawing-room, where a tray of drinks was awaiting them, and Nathaniel said that for his part he was going to bed.
Edgar Mottisfont ventured to say: "I had hoped to have a chat with you, Nat."
Nathaniel darted a look at him from under his bushy brows. "Can't talk business at this hour of night," he said.
"Well, I want a word with you, too," said Paula.
"You won't get it," Nathaniel replied, with a short laugh.
Maud was gathering up her cards. "Dear me, eleven already? I think I shall go up too."